QUAN CHAI LA FUEILHA ... WHENEVER LEAVES FALL DOWN ...
Arnaut Danieltrans. A.S.Kline (from Provençal)


Quan chai la fueilha
dels aussors entrecims
e·l freitz s'ergueilha
don seca·l vais' e·l vims
del dous refrims
vei sordezir la brueilha
mas ieu sui prims
d'Amor, qui que s'en tueilha.

Tot quant es gela,
mas ieu non puesc frezir,
qu'amors novela
mi fai·l cor reverdir,
non dei fremir,
qu'Amors mi cuebr' e·m cela
e·m fai tenir
ma valor en capdela.

Bona es vida
pus joia la mante,
que tals n'escrida
cui ges non vai tam be:
no sai de re
coreilhar m'escarida,
que per ma fe
del mieilhs ai ma partida.

De drudaria
no·m sai de re blasmar,
qu'autrui paria
trastorn en reirazar;
ges ab sa par
no sai doblar m'amia,
qu'una non par
que segonda no·ilh sia.

No vueilh s'asemble
mos cors ab autr' amor
si qu'ieu ja·il m'emble
ni volva·l cap ailhor;
non ai paor
que ja celh de Pontremble
n'aia gensor
de lieis ni que la semble.

Ges non es croia
celha qui soi amis;
de sai Savoia
plus bella no·s noiris;
tals m'abelis
don ieu plus ai de joia
non ac Paris
d'Elena, cel de Troia.

Tan pareis genta
celha que·m te joios,
las gensors trenta,
vens de belhas faisos:
ben es razos
doncas que mos chans senta,
quar es tan pros
e de ric pretz manenta.

Vai t'en chansos,
denan lieis ti presenta,
que s'ill nos fos
no·i metr' Arnautz s'ententa.



When the pale leaves descend
From the high crowns of trees
And the cold airs ascend
To fill the wandering breeze
With melodies 
The forest is then no friend,
Yet whoso flees
I long for true Love again.

Though cold it grows,
I will not freeze forever,
In whom love rose
That will my heart deliver
I’ll not shiver,
Love hides me from head to toe,
Brings strength rather
And tells what way I must go.

Good is this life
That my delight maintains
Though he who knows strife
May otherwise complain
I know no gain
In changing of my life
All free of pain,
By my faith’s, my share of strife.

In true love-making
I find naught here to blame,
Though others, playing,
Find bad luck in the game,
There’s none the same
As her, there’s no repeating,
She’s one I name
Beyond all equalling.
 
I’d not go giving
My heart to another love
Lest I find her fleeing
Or she her gaze remove;
I fear not too
That Malspina’s rhyming,
Can prove
A nobler than her in seeming.

There’s nothing bad there
In she who is my friend;
This side Savoy here
None finer I contend;
Joys without end
She gives and greater
Than Paris gained
In Troy from his Helena.

She is more lovely
She who brings delight,
Than the noble thirty
Finer in every light,
So it is right
That she hear my melody
For she’s the height
Of worth, wins all praise truly.
 
My song take flight,
present yourself to her sweetly,
but for her might
Arnaut might strive more lightly.


Click here 2 for another translation of this poem.

Trans. Copyright © A.S.Kline 2008


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